The Right Call
by WRTRD
Summary: An old rival reappears, and Kate Beckett takes action. Surprising action. Set very early in S5, A/U in that Beckett and Castle are already engaged. A three-shot. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

Detective Katherine Beckett is at her desk, sneaking looks into the break room and coming to a rapid boil. No time for simmering, straight to 212 degrees Fahrenheit. She's sizing up the precinct visitor. Who the hell does she think she is? Who the fucking hell does she think she is, that she can come waltzing back in here? Not waltzing, oozing. Oozing and slithering in here in that satin dress that's so tight you can almost count her pu—. Nope. Not saying it. Not thinking it. Every man within eyeshot is, though. Thinking a lot more than that, too. A lot more ultra NC-17 thoughts than that. Slithering and oozing. Sloozing. That's it, she's sloozing. Total slut.

Serena Kaye. Talk about an inapt name. The woman is about as serene as a steel trap that can take your leg off in one snap. And Kaye? Sounds like the second half of okay, which she definitively is not. It's not remotely okay that Serena Kaye is standing here in the Twelfth Precinct, her hip thrust seductively against the counter in the break room as she chats with Castle. Flirts with Castle. And by the way, her nipples are practically piercing the top of that liquesecent excuse of a dress. The cleaning crew is going to be doing a lot of heavy mopping around here tonight, getting all the drool off the floor.

Beckett is going to do something about it. Now. Maybe she'll just blind the woman by flashing her however-many-carats it is engagement ring at her. How many carats is it, anyway? She hasn't asked Castle. Too embarrassing to contemplate, really, the money he must have spent. No one knows they're engaged. No one knows they're even dating. They've been together for seventeen weeks. Seventeen weeks and three days. And, wait, it was almost ten o'clock when she knocked on his door, so—and fourteen hours. Seventeen weeks, three days and fourteen hours. God, she's like a high school freshman with her first boyfriend, except that she had never acted this lovesick in ninth grade or at any other time. Ever.

He'd proposed to her halfway through her suspension, and she'd said yes. I will Yes. And they'd gone off to a mountain cabin that he'd found on some high-end hideaway site and disappeared for two weeks. And then they'd come back to the city, and she'd returned to the precinct and so had he, pretending not to be a couple. No one has guessed, not even Lanie. And judging from the tableau vivant in the break room, Castle is very successfully projecting "Unattached Male" like a neon "Rooms Available" sign at a motel. Beckett remembers exactly how smitten he was with Serena last fall, draping himself over her the way that dress is draped over her now. She shakes her head, hard, trying to repel a year-old image of him and Serena making out in a hotel hallway. Okay, okay, so she and Castle weren't together then. Doesn't make the picture any prettier.

The engagement ring, which for the moment she wears only at home, is on a chain around her neck. But in ten seconds flat it can be on her left hand; ten seconds more and that hand can be two inches away from Serena Not O'Kaye's face. Beckett doesn't even care that by brandishing her ring at the insurance investigator she'd be making public her relationship with Castle.

"Detective Beckett?"

In her peripheral vision, she notices the Captain poking her head out of her office. Shit. Shit. Shit. "Yes, sir?"

"May I have a word?"

"Yes, sir." Oh, Gates wants a lot more than a word. Or a sentence, or a paragraph. When she asks it like that, in a tone that's a dangerous mix of honey and hydrochloric acid, it resonates with all kinds of possibilities, none of them appealing. Beckett pushes her chair away from her desk and walks to the office.

"Have a seat, Detective."

"Thank you, sir."

"But shut the door first, please."

Oh, this is not good. Not good at all. She closes the door and sits opposite Gates, trying, with only moderate success, to look neutral.

"Detective, I'm sure that you've noticed that Serena Kaye is here."

"Yes, sir, yes I have. Hard to miss her." Oh, God, she shouldn't have said that. There's a brief silence followed by a slight upturn of Gates's lip.

"True."

If Becket were a betting woman—and she is, though she usually likes to pretend that she's above such things—she'd swear Gates is stifling a laugh. Might as well go for it. Maybe she has an ally here. "It's that dress, sir," Beckett says, briefly tilting her head in Serena's direction.

"Yeeessss," Gates whispers conspiratorially, before clearing her throat. "What you probably don't know, since the story has been kept quiet, is that Ms. Kaye was successful in, uh, recovering an extremely unusual and priceless Stradivarius that was stolen from the Cosmopolitan Art Museum's collection of musical instruments. The thief gained access through a vent under the eaves."

"I didn't know that she had, sir. So she cracked The Fiddler on the Roof case?"

"The very one, Detective. Ms. Kaye's recovery method was, uh—"

"Unorthodox?"

"Yes, that's a tactful if not entirely accurate way of putting it. At any rate, the violin is safe and sound."

"That's good news, sir, but I'm not sure what it has to do with me."

"The violin is here."

"Here, here? At the Twelfth?"

"Bingo, Detective."

"Because, sir?"

"Because you and Mr. Castle will be escorting Ms. Kaye and the Stradivarius to the museum, where she will be given a special commendation from the board. Champagne, caviar, the whole deal."

"You can't be serious, Captain. I mean, excuse me, but can't some body guards go with her, or, or patrolmen? Someone from Robbery? I'm a homicide detective. And I didn't, we didn't, you know, have anything to do with that case."

"I'm well aware of that," Gates says, looking over the top of her half glasses.

"May I ask if there's a reason that I have to go, I mean that I specifically, and Castle, have been given this assignment, sir?" She's more desperate by the second, having hideous visions of Serena lifting her glass of champagne, wrapping her arm around Castle's and taking a sip, licking her crimson-gash lips as she gazes into his eyes.

Gates clasps her hands and rests her elbows on her desk. "The museum is grateful not only to Ms. Kaye but to you and Mr. Castle. The three of you worked together on that case last year, solving both the murder of their executive director and the theft of a staggeringly expensive sculpture. They felt that any kind of celebratory gesture at the time, given the death of their director, would have been unseemly. The museum would like to commend all of you now, not just Ms. Kaye. This is not the sort of thing that goes unnoticed in certain circles. One PP feels that this would be a good opportunity to have the department center stage at an important civic moment. Hands across the cultural sea. I quote."

"Serena Kaye is a thief, sir. I don't care how noble her intent. And she, she—she profits from it."

"Detective."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm afraid that's an order."

"Yes, sir."

Gates raises her head to look through the window of her office. "I must say that she and Mr. Castle still seem to be getting along famously."

Beckett wonders if her superior can her teeth grinding. "Yes, sir, they do." She stands up and says, "Thank you, Captain. What time are we supposed to be at the museum?"

"Two thirty. You will have an escort, one car behind, one in front. The sergeant will have the violin ready for you when you go downstairs. He's expecting you at one forty-five."

"Will do, sir. At least I won't have any trouble locating Castle, since he's more or less glued to Serena's side." She has a thought. "Would you mind if I ran home for a moment?" She gestures to her jeans. "I'm really not dressed appropriately for a champagne reception."

Gates gives her a long, inscrutable look. "Not at all, Detective. I'll expect you back in an hour. That should give you enough time, shouldn't it? It will bring you here just around the time you need to leave for the museum."

"Right, sir."

She grabs her bag from her desk drawer and tells Ryan and Esposito she'll be back in an hour. "Keep an eye on Castle and the, uh, hood ornament, guys," she says before she stalks to the elevator. On her ride home she mentally goes through her wardrobe. She has to fight fire with fire, but she's not going to wear anything like that dress. Doesn't own anything like it, anyway. Besides, she's representing the NYPD, and can't go the Cosmofreakingpolitan Museum looking like someone undercover in Vice, much as she'd like to.

At home now, standing in her closet, she's choosing and rejecting item after item. Finally she takes a deep purple silk blouse with a plunging-just-enough neckline and a pencil skirt with a just-short-of-wanton slit at the back. She steps into her very best fuck-me shoes with four-inch heels, touches up her make up, and shakes her hair loose. That should do it, she says, eyeing herself in the bathroom mirror. Bring it on, Serena So Not O'Kaye.

Arriving at the precinct lobby with a minute to spare, she has just enough time to pose artfully by the door before the elevator disgorges Serena and Castle. She notes two simultaneous and opposite orbital reactions from the pair when they spot her. While Serena's eyes narrow appreciably, Castle's widen appreciatively. Good. Just what she was hoping for.

"Ready?" Beckett asks casually. Without waiting for a reply, she moves toward the desk sergeant and takes from him the trillion-dollar violin, which is nestled in a case. "Lookin' good, Beckett," he says quietly, giving her a wink.

When they reach the car, Beckett says, "Why don't you sit in the front, Castle? Serena and I will take the back. With the… fiddle… in between us." He chokes out some response, she's not quite sure what, and they all get in and buckle up. "Excuse me," Beckett says to Serena as she extracts a file folder from her bag. "There's some work that needs my attention right now." She flips it open, not quite wide enough for Serena to see inside, and as she reads makes the occasional small noise. A couple of times she marks a passage with a pen and clucks. The work that requires her attention is, in fact, a short story by Alice Munro that she downloaded and printed it before she left home. It's a great one, too. She looks out the window occasionally to chart their progress and when she sees that they're just two blocks away she closes the folder and returns it to her bag. "Here we are," she says. "Scene of the crime." And opens her door.

She barely manages to survive the reception, declining the Dom Perignon ("Sorry, I'm on duty") that Serena and Castle and the impeccably dressed museum-board crowd are obviously enjoying. She smiles at the right times, shakes the right hands, makes the right comments, and keeps an accurate count of how many times Serena has felt it necessary to put her hand on Castle's arm. Twelve. Jesus.

Finally, finally, she gets a moment more or less alone with Castle. "Do you have to play the part quite so well?" she asks.

"What?"

"Oh, come on Castle, that woman is all over you."

"I'm being polite, Beckett. Besides, I'm supposed to look single."

"Four-star review for you then, Castle. You two look like you're headed for a quickie."

End of conversation, such as it was, as Serena slithers back to them.

Back at the precinct, Beckett appears to head for the ladies room but instead makes for the back stairs. She has been struck by lightning. Her brain is fizzing, and it's not champagne. Since she hadn't had any. She walks down a flight to a corner that's always quiet and takes out her phone, but before placing a call stops to reflect. What she's doing, is she nuts? No. Absolutley not. Is it too soon? Hell, no, she thinks.

Kate Beckett is many, many things. But impetuous? Castle has the market on that. It could be his middle name, ahead of Edgar and Alexander. But right now, at four o'clock on a cool October afternoon, she is doing something precipitous. She punches in a number that her fiancé has on Favorites, but that she has had to look up. There's an answer after the second ring.

"Hello, is he in please? This is Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD." Will that be enough for her to get through? "Yes, of course, I'll hold."

She swipes a palm over her slightly damp forehead. "Good afternoon, Mayor Weldon. It's Kate Beckett."

TBC

 **A/N** From a prompt by mobazan27: Serena Kaye reappears and thinks Castle is available.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

 **A/N** Oops, this turned into a three-shot.

Well, that had gone well. Kind of terrifyingly well. The Mayor ("Bob, it's Bob, Kate. Especially after what you just told me") is on board. So on board that she's afraid that he might be getting out pom poms and megaphones, having letter sweaters made. He's the self-appointed Head Cheerleader, which she'd never have expected from him. Had she given it any thought, which clearly she hadn't.

There's no backing out now. My God, she did this stone-cold sober. Imagine what she might have signed up for if she'd actually had some of the champagne? Castle lives his life this way; he's a seat-of-the-pants guy, and how does he do it? Maybe it's because he's so disciplined in ways most people don't know about. When she saw his closet for the first time she nearly fell over in a dead faint. Not the closet she hid in that first morning when Martha burst in on them, but his walk-in clothes closet. It looks like some elf from Brooks Brothers comes in every night while everyone is sleeping and tidies up, makes sure that everything is perfect. Like the shirts, which are lined up not just by patterns and colors, but by shades. The blue ones begin with deepest navy on the far left and proceed in incremental gradations until the one on the far right, which is such a pale blue that it could be taken for white. Except by Castle, of course. He'd never make that mistake. Maybe that kind of organization and attention to detail make it possible for him to be spontaneous in other ways. Hmmm. Hmmm.

So here she is doing something in the heat of the moment—oh yeah, the heat's on, baby—for virtually the first time in her life and look where it landed her. Her shrink would probably applaud if the news didn't shock him so much that he couldn't. She can hear the conversation, "Hi, Doctor Burke? It's Kate. Guess what I just did!" Then she'd tell him and the unflappable man would flap right into a heart attack.

She's startled to see that she has been down here for more than fifteen minutes. Someone's bound to come looking for her. Castle and The Hood Ornament had ridden back to the precinct with her, but she has no idea if they're still here. Not sure if she wants to know, either. But she has to go back up now, if only because she really, really, needs to speak to Gates before she does anything else. She pockets her phone, takes as deep a breath as possible in that skirt, and returns to her floor. Sure enough, Castle is there, deep in conversation with Ryan and Esposito. She can't see Serena, but she can smell her. That perfume might have permeated every porous surface in the place. Beckett hates to admit it, but she actually loves the scent when she can divorce it from its wearer. She knows what it is and what it costs. Paid for with ill-gotten gains. The hell with it. Time to talk to Gates.

"Sir?" Beckett asks, after knocking on her boss's door. "Do you have a moment?"

The Captain looks up. "Yes. Come in, Detective. What can I do for you? I see that you and Mr. Castle survived the reception."

"Yes, we did, thank you. Um, Sir, I know that I've haven't been back from my suspension for long, but I actually do have some vacation days saved up from, you know, before, and I, well I have some and I know it's terrible that I'm not putting in a proper form and asking way ahead of time but I really need to take the rest of the week off and it's just three days and I think Ryan and Espo can manage if you think it's all right and I'm really sorry to spring this on you but I didn't know that I'd, well, I'd need the time it just happened and I really do and I can't explain just yet is that okay?"

Gates looks inscrutable again. "Detective? I'd ask if everything is all right, but anyone who can deliver that request without stopping to breathe is probably all right. So, yes. You may have the next three days off and the weekend schedule is such that you won't be called in then. I'll expect you back next Monday morning, however."

Beckett is so relieved that she almost throws her arms around Gates. But not quite. "Thank you, Sir. Thank you so much. I'll be leaving now then. My shift is over unless there's you know, did you need. Uh."

"I don't need anything, Detective, except to see you getting on the elevator now and not coming back for the next five days."

Oh, my God, she could really kiss the woman, but she won't. "Thank you, Sir. And, see you Monday."

She doesn't want to tip her hand by sprinting to the elevator, so she walks to her desk at a reasonable pace, shuts down her computer and gets her bag from the drawer. "Night, boys," she says airily.

"Night, Beckett." That's Ryan.

"Night, Beckett." That's Espo.

"Beckett? Wait up." Right on cue.

She turns and looks at the three men. "You want to carry my books home from school or something, Castle? Because I don't live in your neighborhood, you know."

"Right. Yeah. I know. But can you wait a sec, anyway? I need to ask you something."

"Fine. Just get a move on, please. I have a lot to do." Oh, if he only knew.

He almost bounces over to join her. She thinks, not for the first time, that it's something of a miracle that he hasn't given the game away. To counteract his eager behavior, she glares, making sure that everyone can see her.

They step in to the elevator, which has no other passengers. "Are you mad, Kate?"

"You mean because of Serena?"

"Of course. It was nothing. Seriously, I was just trying hard to look, you know, single."

"Well, as I said earlier, you did a great job of it Castle."

"So you're still mad."

"Not exactly. But let's not continue this conversation until we get out of the building, okay?"

He slumps against the elevator wall. "Okay."

They walk two blocks in silence and turn left. "Castle."

"Yeah?"

"I don't like being jealous. Especially of that woman."

"You shouldn't be. You needn't be. You know that. C'mon, you must know that. In fact, if you come to the loft right now I will show you in every way possible that you're the only woman for me."

"Nope."

That stops him mid-stride. "Nope? You don't think that you're the only woman in the world for me?" He looks so bewildered and upset that she needs to calm him down a bit.

"The nope was not about that, Castle, though I am relieved and happy that you think I'm the only woman in the world for you. The nope is that I can't come over to the loft tonight."

"It doesn't have to be night. It could be now. Still afternoon. Nobody's there. We'd have the place to ourselves."

"Sorry, I really do have a ton of things to do. A list as long as a gibbon's arm."

"A gibbon?"

"Longest-armed mammal, Castle."

"Can I kiss you in the street?"

"No."

"But that's so adorable. And sexy. That you know that, you monkey."

"A gibbon is an ape, Castle, not a monkey. Visit to the Bronx Zoo when I was in second grade." She taps her forehead. "Excellent memory, as you should know."

He grabs her hand, completely enclosing it in his own. "I'm sorry about Serena, Beckett. Really, I am. I am. I _am_."

"I know, and I'm glad to hear it, but I still have a lot to do. Gotta jump in the subway. Talk you later."

She goes down the steps to the train, but halfway there she turns to give him a smile and a wave. He's still standing at the entrance, waving back but looking mystified.

In fact, she doesn't have a list yet, but she's about to. Now. She gets her phone out and starts making one, arranging it by category and date. By the time she's in her apartment, shoes, restrictive skirt and seductive blouse swapped for one of Castle's T-shirts, it's set. She sits down, opens her laptop and executes a few searches. She follows those up with a few phone calls, all of them ending not just satisfactorily but happily. Every hour on the hour her phone pings with a text from Castle: What are you doing? How's your list coming along? Do you know I'm sorry? She replies: A lot. Fine. Yes.

She's just about to get in bed when the doorbell rings. She walks to the door. "That better not be you, Castle."

"Ma'am? Sorry, ma'am. I'm looking for a Katherine, uh, Bucket?"

She looks through the peephole. A very short, very young guy—probably a terrified kid working his way though college—is standing a few feet away. "Yes?"

"I have a delivery for Ms. Bucket? From Richard Castle."

"Hang on a minute, please." She grabs her coat, throws it on over her decidedly unsexy nightwear, and opens the door a crack. "Yes? I'm Kate. Katherine. Bucket."

The kid leans down and retrieves from the floor an arrangement of flowers that's the size of the average prison cell. "I need you to sign, please?"

She gulps. "Right. Oh. Do you have a pen?"

"Yes, ma'am," he says, putting the flowers down again to find his pen, which he passes to her.

She scribbles her signature, hands back the pen, and stoops to get the flowers. As does he, though he has less distance to cover since he's probably only five two on a good day, which this is not. Their heads meet with a crack.

"Oww!"

"Shit! Ouch!"

"Sorry, ma'am. I'm so sorry."

They're both clutching their foreheads. "No problem, it's okay. Hold on a minute. You need ice?"

"No, ma'am. I'll just be going."

"Please, just wait a minute." She steps back in, finds a crumpled ten-dollar bill in her wallet, and pokes her head out the door. "Here. Thank you. If you back up, I'll get the flowers. Thanks." He does, and she does.

Everything is in that basket. Every single flower is some shade of purple, including at least four dozen roses, never mind all the others. How did that little shrimp even carry this thing? She should run after him and give him a twenty, except he's long gone and probably glad of it. She manages to heave the basket onto her coffee table, and takes a photo which she emails to Castle, her only comment a string of xoxoxoxo. Then she turns off her phone and is asleep before she can consider everything she has to do in the next day.

The following morning, Castle turns up at the precinct at eight, far earlier than usual. Standing in front of her desk, holding two coffees, he looks around. Clearly she's not here, and it looks as if she hasn't been. "Ryan?"

"Oh, hi, Castle."

"Where's Beckett?"

"Dunno."

"She coming in late?"

"Captain told Espo and me she's out for the rest of the week."

"What? Is she sick?"

"Don't think so," Espo says, appearing from the break room, an espresso in hand. "Cap'n just said she's taking vacation time. Coming back Monday. She didn't tell you?"

"Uh, no. Didn't mention it. Guess, I'll. Guess maybe I'll go home then."

"Okay, man. We'll call you if a body drops. We're down one with her out."

"Right. Yeah, do. Uh, great. Not great if somebody's murdered. You know what I mean."

"Got it. See ya."

"See ya." Halfway to the elevator he turns back. "Either of you want a latte? Grande skim? Two pumps sugar-free vanilla?"

Espo makes a face. "Girl's drink, man. Don't tell Beckett I said so."

Ryan looks indignant. "Thanks, Castle. Some of us aren't too proud to embrace our feminine side. I'll take it."

"Good man," Castle says, handing over the coffee. "Later, guys."

What the hell? He's going to her apartment. Right now. Not calling first, either. How mad can she be, anyway? She loved the flowers, sent him a hugs-and-kisses email. Despite it being the height of rush hour, he finds a cab in half a minute. Good omen, he thinks.

Except ten minutes later, when he's outside the door, he has to revise his thinking. She's not home. He knocks. He rings. He phones. He texts. He puts his ear to the door. Nothing. Maybe she's gone for a run and is ignoring her phone? He sits down in the hall and waits. At ten, he's still there and she's not. Now he's anxious. He calls again, and gets voicemail. "Beckett? Call me back, please. I'm worried. Been at your door for an hour and thirty-six minutes. You don't have to talk to me, just let me know if something's wrong." He's willing to wait half an hour and then, he swears to God, he'll have a guy he knows hack her phone, tell him where she is. Seconds later, his phone rings.

"Hi, Castle. Sorry, didn't mean to make you worry."

"Well you did. You're on vacation?"

"What? No, I'm not on vacation."

"The boys said you have the rest of the week off."

"You went in?"

"Of course I went in. Ryan drank your five-dollar coffee, by the way. Where are you?"

"Doing errands. I'm not on vacation, just doing some things."

"Can I do them with you?"

"Not today."

"What about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow. Your not-vacation day."

"Definitely. You can definitely do things with me tomorrow. In fact, I'll insist on it. Gotta go, Castle. Bye."

He doesn't know, right? He can't possibly know. She walks four more blocks and she's there. Inside, she goes to the second floor and stops at the first counter. "Good morning, I'm Kate Beckett. Mr. Billings said he would have an order ready for me?"

"Oh, yes. He called ahead. I have it right here. If you could just wait one moment."

"Of course." God, this place really oozes money. Beautiful, though. And Henry Billings was unbelievably accommodating.

The saleswoman is back, carrying a small shopping bag. "Here you are, Ms. Beckett."

Beckett takes out her credit card and extends it to the saleswoman. "Here you go."

"Oh, no. It's already taken care of."

What? Not possible. Not possible. Castle found out. Goddammit, he knows and he beat her to it. "I don't understand, Ms.—"

"Rosenbloom. Stacy Rosenbloom. There's no charge."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. No charge?"

"It's a personal gift from Mr. Billings. When he phoned earlier he told me in no uncertain terms not to accept your credit card. It's his gift."

"Seriously?" She'd been prepared to cough up almost two weeks pay and now she's getting this for nothing?

"With his blessings. That's what he said."

"Oh, wow. I mean, thank you. Thank him. Of course I will. Thank him, that is. And thank you."

"You're welcome," Stacy Rosenbloom says, picking up the bag from the counter and holding it up. "Don't forget this."

Beckett smiles, and takes it. "Believe me, I won't."

She wishes it weren't 10:20 a.m. She could use a drink.

TBC

 **A/N** Thank you all for the reviews, follows and faves. One chapter to go. Tomorrow, I promise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

She doesn't have time for a drink, anyway. She has to meet Martha and Alexis for coffee. Fill them in, draw them in, get their help.

At eleven-thirty, sitting in a booth in a diner around the corner from the Martha Rodgers School of Acting, the three women are laughing as if they've been knocking back Cosmos, not sipping slightly burnt coffee from heavy ceramic mugs. Beckett is beyond relieved that Castle's daughter reacted so enthusiastically to the plan. Alexis has already tucked the small bag that Beckett entrusted to her—though not before she and her grandmother examined and exclaimed over the contents—in her shoulder bag.

"So you'll do it, Martha?" Beckett asks, still a little nervous.

"Of course I will, darling," she says. "It's so seldom that I get to play a co-conspirator, especially one who is permitted—no, requested—to ad lib. It feeds an actor's soul, you know. And I'm touched that you asked me, have faith in me." Her jeweled hand moves over her heart. "Want my participation."

"Of course I have faith in you, Martha. And there's no one better for this job, " Beckett assures her. "What time works best for you?"

"Well, there's one gap in my schedule that would be good, when afternoon classes have ended but before the evening coaching begins. Sometime between four and six?"

"That's perfect. Just let me know when you're ready and then I'll make my behind-the-scenes move. And speaking of move, I have to run. Sorry not to spend more time, but—"

"Understood, sweetheart," Martha says, squeezing Beckett's arm. "I'll be in touch."

"Thank you so much," Beckett answers, standing up and then bending over to give both women a hug.

She runs to the subway for her next appointment. Though she's already gone over her choices by phone, she wants to see them, make sure the colors are right. It's a small order, just five things, but still. She needn't have worried: it's all perfect. She asks if everything can be dropped off by nine o'clock tomorrow morning and, once assured that it will be, pays the bill and leaves. No freebies here, but no complaints, either.

It occurs to Beckett that she hasn't eaten, probably since, let's see. Well, since breakfast yesterday. The Hood Ornament completely put her off lunch as well as the delicacies at the museum reception, and when she got home she was (a) too busy to eat and (b) forgot. This morning she had had far too much to do to stop and feed her face. There's a casual lunch place on the next block, so she ducks in there and has her favorite speedy go-to meal, scrambled eggs on toast. Protein, carbs. She'll have something green later. Maybe tomorrow, if. If.

She checks her watch. Martha may call as early as four, which doesn't give her a lot of time, but enough for a flying visit to Barely There, her favorite lingerie store. She's due for a little indulgence, and a $250 handmade wisp of a bra is definitely an indulgence. She's had her eye on it for weeks. Please, please, please let it be in stock. Twenty minutes later she's in a fitting room with a lot more than the lacy bra. Not long after that she's on her way out, carrying a tiny bag with even tinier garments and not minding one iota that her bank account is $800 lighter than it had been when she walked in. Worth it, she thinks. Totally worth it. She heads for home, and has just dropped the shopping bag on her bed when her phone buzzes.

"Hi, Martha."

"All systems go, Katherine."

"What did you say to persuade him to come over?"

"I told him that David Mamet might be dropping by to see my workshop."

"You're kidding."

"Well of course I'm kidding, but I sounded dead serious when I told him. I was very convincing. Before you could say _Glengarry Glen Ross_ he was on his way. He'll probably be here in five minutes, so the coast is clear."

"I can't thank you enough, Martha."

"Nonsense, darling. What you're doing is more than I could ever have hoped. Now, go."

She goes, straight to the loft. By now all the staff in Castle's building know her, and don't give a thought to her comings and goings. And on this particular visit she's coming in empty-handed but will be going out with a small suitcase. She doesn't want to linger, because the Mamet ruse may become obvious early on. Fortunately she knows exactly what she wants from his bedroom; she packs it neatly, and gets the hell out.

But she hasn't spoken to Castle since their brief conversation this morning when he was pacing the hallway outside her apartment. She misses him. She's missed him all day. She could definitely use a drink now, especially if her drinking partner were her fiancé. She texts him. "Want to get a drink?"

Rapid response. "And dinner?"

"Can't. Girls' night out with Lanie." Good thing he can't see her face. Dead giveaway. "I think she's suspicious about us and I have to divert her."

"Dinner tomorrow?"

"Definitely. Maybe lunch. But a drink now? Old Haunt in fifteen? I know the owner. Good guy. Might spot us a beer."

"Who is he, an old boyfriend?"

"Nope, my last one. Ever."

"On my way. Save me a seat."

"If it's crowded, we can share one."

"Even if it's not."

Tucked in the back booth of The Old Haunt with him, she's tempted to stay. Burning to. She can't. If she stays now, she'll stay later and then she'll stay over or he'll stay over and that can't happen. Not tonight. No way, Renée. What she does do, given the exceptionally poor lighting where they're sitting, is give him a promissory note in the form of a kiss that's designed to knock his socks off. And everything else. She scoots to the end of the bend. "Gotta go, Castle. See you tomorrow."

He's having a little trouble catching his breath. "So we're definitely doing stuff tomorrow?"

"Yes. We are definitely, definitely doing stuff tomorrow. Night!"

And she's gone. On the way home she stops and gets a slice of pizza. It's all she can manage, though she's remarkably calm, she tells herself, for someone who is acting so out of character. Spontaneous. Nuts. Not nuts.

She changes into another Castle T shirt that she appropriated—on International Coffee Day, come to think of it, just a couple of weeks ago—and checks her list. Done. Virtually all done, except for packing a very small bag for tomorrow. She lays everything out on her bed, goes over and over and over it, nods, and packs. Castle's small suitcase is by her front door, and she puts her own carry bag on top. She pats it. "Done."

Falling asleep is tough, not least because she has hardly slept alone for the last four months. Everything is ready for tomorrow, including her, but still. Still. She starts running movie dialogue through her brain, which often helps her insomnia. When "Tomorrow is another day" pops up, she can only laugh. And laugh some more and then some more until she finally rolls over onto her side, and drifts off in Castle's "but first, coffee" T-shirt.

She'd set her alarm, as if she needed it, for six. Makes coffee and forces herself to eat half a bagel and part of an apple. Then she showers, washes her hair, dries it, and puts on her makeup. Just your ordinary work day, she tells herself. "No, definitely not your ordinary day," she says aloud to her mirror image. She's grateful both for the sun and the temperature, which is cool enough to call for a coat, since she'd just as soon not be seen outside in what she's wearing. Nothing wrong with what she's wearing; it looks wonderful, if she does say so. Just not your ordinary morning attire. "Not your ordinary morning," she says, as she puts on her shoes. She'd called for a car the night before, not wanting to fight for a taxi or, worse, struggle on to the subway. The driver had texted her just now. He was downstairs. She grabs the two bags, opens the door and takes the next step into the extraordinary day.

In the car, she texts Castle. "Got a busy morning. Can you meet me for lunch?"

"Absolutley. Thought I didn't have a busy morning but Bob Weldon just called and wants me to come to some hush-hush meeting in his office at ten."

"Sure the Mayor will spring you for lunch?"

"Yeah, said it would be quick."

"Made a res."

"You? Beckett! What's the occasion?"

"Heard about a fantastic new place on the river. Hudson Heaven."

"That place that got the total rave in the Times last week?"

"Yup."

"How'd you swing that?"

"Know a guy. We have to be there at 12:30. Gotta go. See ya. xo"

She managed not to drop the phone once during that sweaty-palmed textathon, and now she's here. Oh, boy. After the driver pops the trunk and gets the bags out, she walks to a side entrance where Bob's assistant is waiting for her.

"Morning, Detective."

"Good morning, Tanya. Thanks for being my escort, since I have no idea where I'm supposed to go." They make a series of turns, the suitcase wheels whirring on the terrazzo floor, and stop at a solid-oak door.

"You're right in here," Tanya said, gesturing for Beckett to go in. "I'm next door, so holler if you need anything. I'm taking this roll-on suitcase to the Mayor, right?"

"Yes, please. And thank you for everything."

She steps in and sees Martha and Alexis by the window. "Oh, thank God," she says, race-walking to grab them in a hug. "You're here."

"Why don't you take off your coat, Katherine, and hand it to me."

"Not sure if I can manage the buttons."

"I can," Alexis says, undoing them easily and then lifting off the coat.

Both women gasp when they see Beckett's dress. It's ivory silk, flowing liquidly over her and just brushing the tops of her knees. A high neck and cutaway sleeves leave her shoulders bare, and her arms mostly exposed. A long, narrow slit runs from just above her collarbone to just between her breasts.

"Beautiful!" Martha says.

"Gorgeous," says Alexis.

"You think he'll like it? I can't believe I could get it. Just luck, yesterday, before I met you."

"Like it?" Martha says, one perfectly arched brow raised. "I hope you packed an oxygen tank in that bag you brought for him. And speaking of packing things, Alexis and I didn't know if you were set for something old, something borrowed and something blue, so we brought these." She opens her bag and removes a box of sapphire earrings. "They cover all three categories, darling. They belonged to my grandmother, which makes them, dear Lord, really really old, and they're borrowed from me and they're blue."

"Don't let me cry, Martha. Thank you, I—. Just thank you. My mom is here with me." She holds up her right hand. "I'm wearing her ring that I used to wear around my neck. Oh, and oh, God how could I have forgotten? Have you seen—yes, here it is, on the chair. The boxes of flowers. A small bouquet for each of you and one for me and a boutonnière for my father and one for Castle, which we should give to Tanya. Do you have the rings, Alexis?"

"Yes, here, in my pocket."

"You won't believe it, but I got them free."

"Free?" Martha squeaks. "How on earth? They're from Van Cleef and Arpels, for heaven's sake."

"I know, amazing, right? When I went to pick them up yesterday the saleswoman wouldn't let me pay. Said they were a gift from Henry Billings, the number-two guy there. I was bowled over. Years and years ago when I was a beat cop I helped his son out a jam. He was just a kid. But his father never forgot it, apparently."

There's a knock on the door. Beckett knows exactly who it is, and suddenly feels a little weak at the silk-dusted knees. "Come in."

It's her father, looking very handsome in a charcoal-gray suit. "Hi, Dad."

"Hi, Katie," he says, pulling her in for a hug. "You look so beautiful. I wondered if I'd ever see this day, and here it is. This is one hell of a surprise you're pulling off."

"Yeah?" She's suddenly bashful.

"Yeah!" one baritone and two soprano voices say in unison.

"It's time," Martha says. "Alexis, could you go over and see if Tanya is ready for us?"

"Sure."

That leaves Beckett with her father and Castle's mother. "So. This is it." There's silence. "Your arm okay, Dad? Hope I don't break it when you walk me in there."

"I've been working out," he says solemnly. "Think I can take it."

Alexis pokes her head through the door. "Ready! You come with me, Gram. See you in a minute, Kate and Mr. Beckett."

When the women have left, Beckett takes her father's hand. "Don't say anything now, Dad, please. I have to hold it together for just a little while."

"You got it. Let's go."

As they near the Mayor's office, someone inside cracks the doors open just enough so that she can see two trumpeters at the back of the room. And the instant they see her they begin to play. She stops and turns to her father. "Dad! Dad! It's 'My Spirit Be Joyful.' The Bach, Bach. It's Mom's favorite. "

"I know. And the minute you told me about today I thought about Mom always saying that she wanted it for your wedding day. So with some help from Alexis I got two trumpet students from Juilliard, and here we are." He beams. "I think they're really opening the doors now."

And there's Castle, in his blue suit and pale blue-not-white shirt, standing, stunned, next to his pal the Mayor. Martha and Alexis are sitting on chairs a few feet away, and her father, after safely delivering his daughter, goes to join them.

"Beckett?" Castle whispers. "Bob told me this was some, uh. Some. Wow."

"Castle?" she whispers back. "Want to get married?" He's still gaping. "You'd better say yes. I have a gun."

"In that?" he squeaks. "Where did you hide it?"

"Pfff. You ready?"

"Yes." A grin has spread across his face. "Oh, yes."

Two platinum rings later, and by the power invested in Bob et cetera et cetera, they're married.

"You can kiss me, Castle," Beckett says, half an inch from his lips. "It's legal. And I think everyone knows we're together now."

She didn't have to tell him again, as he gave her his version of the kiss she'd landed on him the night before.

There's champagne and a lot of laughing and then the newly-stitched-together family of five goes to Hudson Heaven of lunch. And afterwards, when it's down to the two of them, Beckett takes Castle's hand and says, "It won't be dark for another couple of hours, but it already is on half the planet. Wanna get a head start on our wedding night?"

"You have a place in mind, Beckett?"

"Yup. Mandarin Oriental. I got us a room. With a very, very big bed. Windows are overlooking the park. I checked."

"You want to spend our wedding night looking out the window?"

"Definitely not. Just mentioned because no one will be able to see us except the occasional bird. Maybe a love bird. And before you say anything, remember I'm allowed to be corny today. I'm the bride."

"I was going to say that's adorable."

"You weren't. The car's waiting for us outside. But before we do—" She looks serious. "I have one tiny thing I have to tell you. Kind of a confession."

He blanches. "What? What do you have to tell me?"

"I never thought I'd say this, but I'm grateful to Serena Kaye. She made me insanely jealous and I didn't want that anymore. If she hadn't showed up and plastered herself all over you the other day, I never would have done this."

He waits a minute. "You didn't want to invite her to the wedding, then?"

"Not that grateful, Castle." She looks around the room. "There's no one here. Can I have a kiss, for the road?"

 **A/N** Many thanks to everyone who read, to those who followed or favorited, and especially to those who took the time to review. I wish you all Happy Thanksgiving, no matter what your nationality or where you live in this world, and hope that one day we'll all see a more peaceful planet.


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